


you got me feeling black and blue

by marked4war



Category: Crush Camboys AU, เพราะรักใช่ป่าว | Why R U?: The Series (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Creampie, Face-Fucking, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marked4war/pseuds/marked4war
Summary: Tutor smiles against the phone.“Actually, I was hoping you could bring your phi with you when you do.” He says, fingers toying at the hem of his sweats.
Relationships: Fighter/Tutor (Why R U?: The Series), War (OC)/Fighter, War (OC)/Tutor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63
Collections: MeChad Superior





	you got me feeling black and blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grave/gifts).



> a little valentines offering for my girl <3

No good decisions are ever made at 3am. 

Those hours are reserved for the mistakes and the regrets and the sordid secrets that weave in and out of the gutters, their whispered nostalgia shining under the illumination of streetlights. Tutor has seen these hours pass him bye on too many nights. He’s caught himself staring insomnia in the face with a drink in hand or the glare of a laptop screen keeping him from the sanctuary of his pillow. So really, he should know better.

It’s a workday. He’d spent most of the day at university studying propulsion and then rushed for a late shift that had seen him on his feet until closing at ten. Fighter had been out at some work function or another (truly, Tutor hadn’t thought to question it in his tiredness) and the condo sat quiet and dark. Hours have passed and it remains the same, his skin damp from a shower as he lets his fingertips dance through the air, tracing the shadows cast by passing traffic. 

He hates these moments, where his skin aches with restlessness and the chill sits in his bones. Tutor finds himself filled with a sense of want so heavy and hot that he has to sit up, legs sliding over the side of the bed as he paces the short distance between mattress and door. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me.” He whispers.

No one is there to hear him but he doesn’t care. Tutor can’t be still right now, can’t think straight, can’t shake the desire for....something that hits him with such force he feels like he might be sick. It’s a terrifying sense of claustrophobia, like he’s been thrown into a closet, the door padlocked.

No good decisions are ever made at 3am. It’s 3.01 now though and Tutor doesn’t care.

He makes quick work of dressing himself. The closet is already open from early and he tosses on the first clothes he finds, donning comfortable sweats and a worn tee. It’s probably not ideal for the cooler weather but it’s fine, he can grab a jacket on his way out of the door. Right now he just knows he needs to be anywhere but here and he has an idea of where he could go that might – him together before he starts to vibrate out of his skin.

Tutor snatches up his phone and keys in the passcode, swiping through until he’s hovering over a text window.

There’s a moment of hesitation as he considers.

He wonders what Fighter will think – whether he’ll be hurt or angry or judgemental. He wonders if his messages will remain ignored or whether they’ll be answered with disdain. He wonders if any of this will actually help or if it will hinder. There’s a dangerous line he’s walking here, taut as a tightrope and if he has even the slightest of stumbles, it’s game over. His heart pounds a strange, erratic rhythm and Tutor brushes his bangs from his face, inhaling the scent of fabric softener from the collar of the tee.

He fires off a message.

**Come get me. I want you.**

He watches the screen with a sick sense of dread, waiting. The seconds tick by and then he sees the message has been read. It makes sense that War would still be awake. Junkies and sleep are fair weather friends.

Tutor knows it might be presumptuous but he makes his way to the front door, grabbing his keys off of the side table and slipping into his sneakers. There’s a grey sweatshirt hanging on a hook, it looks soft and old, like a comfort; he knows it’s Fighter’s because he’s seen him wear it more than once. Tutor grabs it and slides it on, checking his phone again.

**Phi: Little Fight is here princess.**

Tutor’s stomach sinks. He thinks of Fighter, his handsome face softened by drunkenness, cheeks flush and lips swollen. War would protect that with his life, even if he wanted to press Tutor against the nearest wall. The fact of the matter is, if it came down to it, he’d fuck Tutor but he’d never let Fighter see.

Still…

Tutor is just jittery enough to do something reckless.

He takes a deep breath and hangs the jacket back up, slides the shoes off.

**So bring him here and then stay. I want you both.**

The response this time is immediate.

**Phi: Are you fucking kidding me?**

Tutor laughs to himself in the gloom of the condo and taps the call button, pressing the phone to his ear. It rings twice and then War answers.

“If you’re serious, that’s ballsy of you.” He says.

His voice is low and gruff with smoke, thickened with booze as he laughs down the phone. Tutor can hear shuffling as though he’s moving around and then a faint mutter that must be Fighter. It makes him smile despite himself and he works his way over to the sofa, dropping down on it heavily.

“Please put P’Fight on the phone.” Tutor says in response.

He hears War curse, throat catching with something halfway between a chuckle and a scoff, then there’s the cacophony of a phone being passed along before Fighter answers.

“Tor, what’s wrong?”

He sounds concerned but Tutor notes with interest that he also sounds sober.

“I can’t sleep.” Tutor says.

It’s the simplest answer and the most effective because it has Fighter’s voice immediately catching with worry.

“I can come home.” He says.

Tutor smiles against the phone.

“Actually, I was hoping you could bring your phi with you when you do.” He says, fingers toying at the hem of his sweats. 

Fighter makes a confused noise and Tutor hears him and War talking back and forth before he comes back to the call. When he does, Tutor can practically taste the way his throat bobs with nerves.

“Oh - oh um, are you sure?” He asks, voice breaking.

Tutor laughs.

“Only if that’s okay with you.”

He can’t see it but with his mind’s eye he tracks the rosy bloom of Fighter’s flush, unfurling across his skin like fire. Tutor has kissed that flush many times over, tasted the warmth of it on his tongue, felt it beneath his hands as Fighter fucked into him, the heft of his strong body so good that Tutor had pooled liquid with want.

Fighter is silent for a long time. Tutor isn’t foolish, he knows this is a dangerous gambit, that the game he’s playing here can either win or lose but either way it embarks into territory that is yet uncharted. There are whispers, shaking voices that tremor across the phone line until Tutor kicks his legs up at the same time a throat clears itself.

This time, it’s War.

“We’ll be there in twenty. I’ll have your boy nice and worked up for you.” 

This last sentence has Tutor biting his bottom lip. He imagines them in War’s car, plush and expensive, War’s long fingers dipping inside of Fighter’s work pants, taking hold of his cock and working him through the first throes of arousal. It would be easy between them, he thinks, the kind of touch that feels like an extension of themselves, some kind of sick masturbation. Tutor craves it, can picture so easily through the itch under his skin, the way they would surround and envelop him, make him forget the restless energy he can’t shake.

“He’s not my boy.” Tutor says, lying.

War laughs.

“Sure thing babe. My nong will let us in, you get yourself comfortable.”

* * *

Those twenty minutes pass by in a flash.

Tutor took the time to strip back down, crawling back into bed with the sheets rolled down to the footboard. It’s still cool weather but he turned the thermostat up just to be safe and laid what he needed out on the nightstand.

He knows it’s a rash choice, one he will no doubt regret in the morning but right now who cares. He feels like he’s on fire, hands combing over sweat soaked flesh, pawing at himself through the fabric of his briefs. He’d taken them off to prep himself, slick fingers dipping in and out of himself, stretching himself in preparation for the thickness of a cock. It had felt good but ultimately, he’d been left empty and wanting, so he’d pulled his briefs back up and waited.

The sound of Fighter’s key in the door is almost deafening in the silence. He stumbles once, twice, hands probably shaking but then he gets the keyhole and Tutor’s pulse picks up, the first strains of doubt starting to fill him. This is really happening. He can’t take this back.

The door slams shut and there’s shuffling coming from the living area, shoes being kicked off, coats hung up, War slamming Fighter against a wall with a laugh and -

“Honey, we’re home!” War shouts.

Tutor rolls his eyes on a smirk, hears Fighter snort loudly. He sits up then, rolls his shoulders.

“I’m in the bedroom.” He shouts back.

In an instant they’re there. Fighter comes first, leaning in unsure, hair mussed and lips swollen from kissing. He has a wild look about his eyes, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest with a line of hickeys so dark Tutor’s mouth waters and his chest clenches with a sharp stab of jealousy. War comes after, smiling over Fighter’s shoulder, hands curling possessively over his midriff. He’s in grey sweats and even with Fighter half obscuring him, Tutor can see the hard line of his cock in them.

“Are you just going to stand there?” He says, one eyebrow raising.

War pushes Fighter into the room and saunters over, glancing around him to take in the room in its entirety.

It’s a third of the size of his own, cramped with books and possessions, the closet flung open, the bed in disarray. His expression says he’s charmed. His eyes say he’s pitying. Tutor doesn’t give a shit, he just wants that mouth on him. So the moment War is close enough he drags him down into a kiss, deep and dirty. It makes War laugh, his hands pressing Tutor down into the sheets as Fighter lets out a surprised noise behind them. The light from the window casts across their skin in a sickly swirl of colour and Tutor wants, bucking up against War as he crawls fully onto the bed and caging him in. It feels like falling, dark and glorious and weightless but Fighter’s hesitation sits uncomfortably with him, so he pulls back and holds out a hand.

It’s an offering and Fighter must realise that because he takes it, fingers intertwining with Tutor’s as he slowly lays himself down beside him. He’s on his side, curled in towards them and War takes hold of his waist, pulling him closer. Everything between them is magnetic; Tutor doesn’t mind being trapped between the blackhole of their bodies.

“Is this what you wanted?” Fighter asks nervously.

Tutor doesn’t say anything, just lets go of his hand, moving to knit it into Fighter’s hair and drag him down, capturing his lips. War looks delighted, dark eyes flashing with amused arousal and he takes the opportunity to strip down to his own underwear as Tutor calms Fighter with kiss after kiss, fingertips kneading at his scalp affectionately. It’s like he’s trying to tame a skittish animal but Fighter accepts the treatment, popping the button on his work pants, the zip, sliding them off.

“I–I’ve never–” Fighter says only to be cut off when War puts two fingers to his lips.

As Tutor watches, Fighter’s lashes drop, cheeks flushed that perfect pretty pink as he looks at War. It’s fascinating how such a gesture has him hypnotised, how easily he parts his lips for War to push his fingers past them. It makes Tutor’s stomach turn over with desire and he wants nothing more than to just sit and watch how this plays out but he knows he needs to take action.

He works at the buttons of Fighter’s shirt with trembling hands, letting it loose enough to slip down off of his shoulders as he suckles on War’s fingers, eyes closed. War is looking at Tutor smugly and Tutor stares back, mirroring the expression.

“Our baby likes to use his mouth, doesn’t he?”

Fighter moans around the fingers in his mouth, eyes flying open, pupils blown. Tutor cards a hand through his hair and presses an open-mouthed kiss against War’s neck.

“If he wanted to put it to good use. Maybe he could suck my cock?”

He lets a mocking edge lace his words and War laughs at the challenge, withdrawing his fingers. He takes Fighter by the chin then, rough as he draws him forward until Tutor can drag his own lips against their dampness.

“And what would I be doing nong?”

Tutor lets his cheeks dimple, the picture of innocence as he smiles, all perfect, white teeth.

“Well, while I’m fucking his face. I’m going to be riding your cock.”

War’s smile drops in favour of a dark eyed look of lust. He shivers, dropping his mouth to bite at the meat of Tutor’s shoulder hungrily. Tutor accepts it, fingers dipping low, past the hem of Fighter’s briefs to tease at the root of his cock. It has the desired effect of making Fighter whimper, his head falling back on Tutor’s shoulder.

“Tor – what if i can’t take it?” He asks, voice unsteady.

War trails fingers across his cheek, gentle as a feather.

“Come on baby, let’s make nong feel good. Then I can make you cum okay?”

Fighter looks at Tutor and Tutor knows that what he isn’t saying is that he could cum without War’s help. Fighter likes to make others feel good, loves the taste and feel of them in his mouth. He could take him apart just by letting himself be pleasured. It’s sexy in a way that it shouldn’t be, makes him feel raw with the scrape of it against the inside of his chest.

Fighter nods and lets himself be manhandled by War. It’s a strange jumble of limbs, awkward and sleepy as they all laugh. Eventually Fighter ends up pressed back into the pillows, arms spread out across them as he stares up. His hair is a shock of black against the white linen and Tutor sweeps it away from his eyes as he moves to straddle him, underwear abandoned somewhere.

He knows that Fighter wants this, even if he won’t speak the words, his body shivering, his pulse ricocheting around his chest when War lines up behind Tutor, trailing fingers up the cleft of his ass and cursing.

“Fuck nong, your boyfriend prepped for us.”

Fighter’s face burns, spit pooling in the corners of his lips already. Tutor loves him best like this, starved for the taste of cock, unable to pleasure himself as he’s pinned beneath him. The fact that War is pressing hot and heavy against Tutor’s back only makes that better. It’s like he’s lightning in a bottle, bouncing around between them and it feels incredible.

He turns his head over his shoulder and War kisses him, their hips rolling across Fighter’s chest as Fighter levers himself up, mouth level with Tutor’s cock but lips not yet touching. He licks them, red as apples in the springtime and War smirks down, his long fingers catching Fighter’s jaw.

“Come on baby, let’s give it to him.”

Fighter looks drunk but he nods and before Tutor can respond, War is pushing inside of him. It’s a slow, torturous stretch, even with all of the prep work Tutor had done. War’s cock is thick and long and hard enough that it feels almost painful in the way it presses up into him. He lets out a silent gasp, the sound caught in his throat and his eyes roll back, thighs trembling as Fighter’s hands reach up, grasping the back of them and pulling Tutor closer.

Time stands still as he presses his lips to the head of Tutor’s cock and then drags kisses up his length. It allows time for War to bury himself to the hilt inside of Tutor with a groan at how tight he is. Tutor’s head spins at the stimulation.

It’s too much. It’s too much and he can’t breathe through it, too busy thinking about how this doesn’t feel real. It’s almost 4am and nothing in the world exists beyond the parting of Fighter’s lips as he takes Tutor sloppily into his mouth, beyond the way War holds steady a moment and then thrusts hard enough that Tutor almost slams forward.

The bed hits the wall, the sound too loud for the early hour. Tutor shouts out, red spilling like wine down his chest as his fingers grasp at the headboard just above Fighter. He stares down at him and Fighter meets his eyes. It’s obscene how good he looks. The swirl of his tongue around Tutor’s cock makes him shake and when War fucks into him again and again, setting a punishing rhythm, it sends Tutor’s cock pumping into Fighter’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat.

Fighter lets out a series of wet gurgles but instead of pulling off, he holds tighter to Tutor and looks past him to War. Something passes between them then but Tutor is too dazed to think about it. It might be a promise, a remembrance of boundaries - whatever it is, it makes Tutor feel like he’s floating. His body buffeting between them, cock twitching in Fighter’s mouth as War lifts a little, thrusting down and –

_ OH _

Tutor screams. War’s arms come about him to hold him steady, grasping at his chest as he kisses the elegant column of his neck.

“Such a spoilt –ah – nong.  _ Ah _ \- me – in your ass and –  _ shit  _ – baby Fighter around y-your cock.”

Tutor tries to let out a laugh but it doesn’t seem to want to crawl up his throat. Instead he rolls his hips, pushing back and forth between the sparks of pleasure that shoot like wildfire up his spine. Drool leaks from Fighter’s mouth and Tutor drops one hand from wear it’s clawing at the wood of the headboard to swipe at it. He feels Fighter’s lips twitch against the pad of his thumb but he just takes Tutor in deeper, practically choking around him in a way that makes Tutor feel feverish.

“Sh–  _ oh _ –shut up – a –and fuck –  _ unh _ –fuck me.”

He slams his hips backwards until War groans loudly, the grinding of Tutor onto his cock enough to distract him from his bullshit attempts at dirty talk. Thank god because it feels like heaven and Tutor doesn’t want anything to ruin this. Having Fighter buried nose deep against his groin already has him shuddering, each thrust of War’s cock hitting his prostate so hard that tears form unbidden in his eyes. 

The room seems to disappear, the bed gone, the city beyond reduced to cinders and Tutor doesn’t care who hears him as he trembles, body on fire and lets himself be overwhelmed by his boys. War bites bruises into his neck, his shoulders and Fighter squirms, probably hard enough that it’s starting to ache. Tutor would tell him to come if he could get the words out but right now he’s too caught up in the bloom of his orgasm in his belly, the petals all starting to open.

“Ph–phi I’m close.” He tries to warn.

Neither of them seem to listen though. Fighter just deepens his suction around Tutor’s cock and War keeps up his punishing pace as Tutor feels the white out behind his eyes beginning to take over. It roars across his body, a snowstorm across the field in his gut until he’s screaming so loudly, so raw that he knows it will wreck his voice for days.

Fighter’s lips tighten about him, suckling to accept all of the cum he can from Tutor’s cock, practically milking it. Tutor is still trembling with aftershocks but he vaguely registers the way Fighter’s eyes roll back with pleasure. It makes his cock twitch as if it could somehow go another round. He can’t though, he’s dazed, limbs heavy, practically slumping forward as War continues to bury himself inside of Tutor again and again.

It makes Tutor gasp and groan, eyes heavy. His toes flex against the sheets, uncurling as he feels the throb between his legs, the clenching of his hole, spasming around War. It must be enough because War lets out a curse, face burrowing into Tutor’s neck and then there are hot streams of cum filling Tutor up.

Tutor doesn’t talk about it much but he loves that part. He loves the sensation of wet, warm cum seeping from him; it’s a claiming. It makes him feel whole in a way that few things do and as War wades through the depths of his orgasm, Tutor hums pleased. If he could he’d keep them like this forever, all three entwined hopelessly.

He can’t though.

Fighter pulls his mouth off, licking his lips clean and he smiles at Tutor bashfully. It’s charmingly innocent considering the circumstances, even more so when he pushes himself up and catches Tutor’s mouth with his own, kissing him with a tentativeness that makes Tutor melt contentedly against his chest.

Behind him War pulls out and his cum drips free of Tutor in a way that makes them both sigh.

“What about you nong? How do you want this?” War asks Fighter tiredly.

His cock is hard, dripping. He looks almost ashamed of it and that makes Tutor laugh, the sound painful. He shares a look with War and is sure they’re both thinking the same thing: Does he know how beautiful he is?

Fighter catches Tutor’s hand and Tutor tangles them easily. He doesn’t even question these touches anymore.

“I want...I want nong.”

Tutor smiles softly at him.

A filthy idea occurs to him then. He knows it will get Fighter though, knows it will scratch an itch for both of them.

With a glance at War, Tutor pushes him to the side so he can straddle Fighter properly, grabbing his cock and then with ease, he slides down onto him, already loose from War. It makes War groan and Fighter curse loudly enough that it shocks them all. In the silence of the too warm room, Fighter’s hands fly to Tutor’s hips and War sprawls out beside them with a grin so shit-eating Tutor would slap him if he hadn’t just made him cum so hard.

“Fuck me Fight, come on.”

Tutor can feel the fullness of War’s cum being pushed out of him by the sheer size of Fighter’s cock. It makes him moan as he grinds his hips against Fighter until he begins to thrust up, shallow at first and then harder, faster. To Tutor’s oversensitive body it feels incredible. Like oil and water, the twin sensations of agony and ecstasy float alongside each other, separating but no less perfect.

He gasps into Fighter’s mouth, letting him take his pleasure in his body and it makes the restlessness leave. Tutor is entirely at peace, mind a blank slate as War swipes a soothing hand across his back, letting Fighter curse and shake, cumming so hard and so much inside of Tutor that he thinks he’ll never be empty again.

It’s startling, the way they both can silence the demons in his mind with their touch but he loves it, needs it.

Tutor doesn’t ever want it to stop.

* * *

5am hits and they’re tied together, arms and legs flung over each other as they cling together on the too small bed. Fighter yawns in Tutor’s arms and Tutor presses back into the solid weight of War’s chest with a pleased sigh. It’s warm and comfortable and he can hate himself in the morning, can regret all of this and swear to throw it all away.

Right now though he just wants to be held. There’s a simple safety in the press of them from chest to ankle, like it could be this way forever, easy and free in the comfort of this room.

“I don’t want to leave.” Fighter mumbles, snuggling closer.

Tutor presses his nose into Fighter’s hair, watching as War reaches out and traces his fingers against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to. Neither of you do.” He whispers and pulls the sheets about them tighter.

War smirks.

“Well good because it’s fucking late and I’m exhausted.”

They all laugh and War’s arms tighten around Tutor, Tutor’s legs wrapping around Fighter’s waist.

No good decisions are ever made at 3am but it’s not 3am anymore, so Tutor decides to sleep in the arms of his boys.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like this then check out my other works!


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